Atlantis: Bermuda Triangle

by Robert Doherty

  Tam Nok paused. “The people we are to meet are like me. They are priests and priestesses. Not of the new religions-- Christian or Muslim-- but of the old religions. Ones who worship the old Gods-- the Ones Before whom the ancient ones worshipped. Your legends, your Gods, they came out of the legends of the Ones Before. You must let me deal with these people. I understand them. You will have nothing to fear if you do what I say.”

  “Since you answer none of my questions,” Ragnarok said, “I have little choice but to follow your lead. But there is nothing I fear,” he added.

  “There are things you have not seen yet,” Tam Nok said, “so it is not good to boast.”

  “I am not boasting,” Ragnarok said.

  “We shall see.”

  “I fought the Valkyries and their creatures,” Ragnarok noted.

  Without a reply, Tam Nok strode off into the dark and Ragnarok followed, frustrated at her lack of acknowledgment.

  They passed several of the large burial mounds. They were somewhat different than the burial mounds Ragnarok was used to. Vikings also interned their dead in mounds, usually shaped in the form of a ship, with rocks to delineate the edges. A Viking leader would be buried with his favorite ship inside of a mound, a truly extravagant arrangement that indicated the honor owed that leader by his people. A slave girl might also be slain and put in the ship with him to make his journey to Valhalla more pleasant. Certainly more pleasant than this journey he was on, Ragnarok reflected. These English mounds were larger and the tops were not decorated with stones. He also sensed they were old, very old.

  Death was but a new beginning for a Viking who had led a life of honor and glory. It was the journey to Valhalla, where more battles, even more glorious than those on Earth awaited the warrior. That was why it was essential that a warrior be buried with his weapons. Ragnarok knew the strange woman, even though she claimed to be a Disir, would not understand. It was the reason his ax had a name and why regaining the weapon had been the most important thing for him to do as soon as they landed.

  The lights were growing closer, numerous torches glittering in the crystal clear night under the bright moon. There was a noise now, something Ragnarok couldn’t quite make out. Almost like the cry of the Valkyries he had heard just before meeting Tam Nok, but different, of the earth, although how he knew that he could not say.

  The silhouette of two objects began to take form on the horizon, about a mile away. One was a towering tree, as large as any pine Ragnarok had ever seen, but this one stood alone on the plain and had leaves and many, many branches. The torch bearers were gathered all around the base of the tree in a wide circle.

  The other, a quarter mile to the right, was not a tree-- that was all Ragnarok could tell-- although it was as tall as the tree. The sound seemed to be coming from the direction. Peer as much as he could, Ragnarok could not make it out, although it might have been some sort of guard or siege tower, rising sixty feet into the sky.

  “There is someone just ahead,” Tam Nok said. “Do not attack.”

  “What do you--” Ragnarok began but then a figure-- sword raised-- suddenly loomed out of the dark, as if spit out of the earth itself, ten feet in front of them. The man barked out something in a strange tongue Ragnarok had never heard, obviously a challenge.

  Ragnarok hefted his ax and prepared to strike but Tam Nok stepped between. She spoke rapidly in the same tongue. It occurred to him that it was strange she spoke his tongue, coming from so far away. He wondered how many languages she knew and how she had learned them.

  Those thoughts were brushed away as the stranger lowered his sword and replied to Tam Nok in the same tongue, then turned and pointed them toward the tree. The man disappeared into a fold in the ground, pulling a cloak over his body to help conceal his location. Ragnarok was not impressed-- hiding in a hole in the ground to ambush strangers did not seem very honorable.

  The strange noise grew louder and Ragnarok could now discern that there were two noises intermingled. One was coming from the tree ahead, a chanting of human voices, lower pitched than the other sound, which was a terrible keening, worse than the cries of Viking women upon learning the ship their mates sailed out on would never be coming back.

  “What is going on?” Ragnarok hissed at Tam Nok, but she waved a hand, hushing him.

  He could see now that the torches were carried by white-robed men and women standing in a circle around the tree. There were about sixty of these. Inside of that outer circle, was a second group of twenty, also holding torches, these robed in green.

  Near the massive trunk of the tree the light from the outer torches illuminated a group of ten people, eight robed in blue, and two others, one in black and one in red. They were all facing toward the tree and chanting. The red robed figure turned toward Ragnarok and Tam Nok, as if waiting for them.

  Tam Nok raised her hands and called out a greeting as they approached the white-robed circle. There was no reply but the circle stood aside to let them pass. As did the ring of blue. The chanting still continued from both circles and Ragnarok was now certain that the strange noise was coming from the other tall object, to his right.

  The figure robed in red who had watched their arrival broke from the group next to the trunk and came toward them. The rest of the group kept its attention on whatever it had been doing.

  Tam Nok again spoke in the strange tongue. Ragnarok felt out of place. His ax was heavy, pulling his left arm down. The chanting was running through his mind, urging him to join in. He shook his head, dirty hair twisting in the wind, and growled. The tree seemed to be alive, the bark gnarled and twisted from hundreds, thousands of years of life, the branches drooping overhead, covering them. Drawing him in to the Earth, to be one with the soil.

  “Your friend is restless,” a woman’s voice came out of the red hood, speaking in Norse.

  “There is not much time,” Tam Nok said.

  The other woman pulled her hood back, revealing pale skin and fiery red hair. “I am Penarddun.”

  “I am Tam Nok, and this is Ragnarok.”

  Penarddun smiled. “A mighty warrior of the north seas. You travel in formidable company.”

  Ragnarok shifted his feet, trying to stay focused on the two women. He was not sure if she was referring to him or Tam Nok. The chanting was getting even louder. And that eerie noise was still floating on the air.

  “I need--” Tam Nok began, but the other woman held up her hand.

  “I know what you are looking for.”

  “Is it here?”

  “No.”

  The chanting abruptly stopped. The black robed figure-- a man as near as Ragnarok could tell-- yelled out something in the strange tongue and then headed toward the other tall object, the others falling in behind him.

  Penarddun extended a hand toward the tree. “We worship the mighty oak, symbol of the Earth Mother.” The slender hand continued toward the other tall object. “And there we sacrifice to the Ones Before. Come.” She followed the last in line and Ragnarok reluctantly followed. For some strange reason he had no desire to see the cause of the terrible noise.

  As he drew nearer-- and the torches illuminated more of it as the robed ones gathered round-- he began to make out the form. It was a huge figure made of wood and wicker, over sixty feet high, formed in the image of a man. Two legs rose to a thick body. Two arms hung at the side and the very top a head, made of bent wooden staves.

  Ragnarok’s hand tightened on the handle of his ax. Inside the wooden confines of the structure were people. Crammed in, some standing on others, arms poking between the beams, their supplicating voices the horrible sound he had been hearing. The writhing forms captured inside made for a bizarre spectacle, as if the wooden creature were alive, its skin crawling with some malignant disease trying to get out.

  “What is this?” Ragnarok hissed at Tam Nok, but she hushed him.

  “It is their way,” she whispered.

  “Those captured inside are murderers, thieves, betray
ers,” Penarddun said as if she had overheard. They halted about fifty feet away as the same circles that had surrounded the oak reformed around the wicker man. The voices of those inside rose even higher, begging for release, for mercy.

  “The gods listen best if the message is coated in blood,” Penarddun said.

  Ragnarok was surprised at such words coming out of such a slight and beautiful woman. He had seen many horrible things done in combat, but this was something he had never experienced.

  “And the message is very important,” Penarddun continued. She turned to Tam Nok. “Is it not?”

  “I don’t--” Tam Nok began, but Penarddun cut her off.

  “The Shadow is coming once more. And we need the Ones Before to help us stop the Shadow.” Her voice lowered so that only Tam Nok and Ragnarok could hear. “My fellow Druids believe this is the best way to get the help of the Ones Before. But you and I know there is another way. They do not hear the true voices of the Gods, but we do.”

  The man robed in black took a torch from one of those in blue. He walked toward the base of the wicker man. The priest thrust the torch into one of the legs of the statue. One of the prisoners kicked it back out.

  The priest turned and raised his arms, yelling something. The circle of druids closed on the wicker man and flung their torches at it. In seconds flame caught hold at a dozen places.

  The screams of those trapped inside rose to a fever pitch. Ragnarok watched as limbs smashed against the wood in desperate attempts to escape, bones breaking almost unnoticed in the grip of the searing flames.

  Ragnarok looked to his right. Penarddun’s face was lit by the fire, appearing almost translucent. Tam Nok had also pulled her hood back and her dark eyes were watching the gruesome spectacle with no expression.

  “Is this getting us any closer to our destination?” Ragnarok asked.

  Both women turned to him in surprise.

  “You said you knew what we were here for,” Ragnarok said to Penarddun. “If it is not here, where is it?”

  Penarddun turned from the fire. “Do you know what the it is you are searching for?”

  “You said you knew why I was here,” Tam Nok said.

  “I know why you are here,” Penarddun agreed. “I know you need something I am to give you. I know where it is, but I don’t know what it is. It is the nature of our position to only be given pieces of knowledge.”

  Ragnarok shifted his feet impatiently. “Where?”

  Penarddun pointed to the north. “That way. Not far.”

  A man had broken through the wood, high up on the wicker man. He fell to the ground, his hair on fire. The body slammed in the earth and the man feebly tried to rise. One of the druids ran forward with a dagger and slit the man’s throat, blood splattering the dirt. The wails and screams were decreasing as those inside succumbed to the flames. Ragnarok was glad the wind was at their back and that the odor of burned flesh was being blown away from them.

  Penarddun finally turned from the dying flames. “Come.” She walked to the black robed man and spoke to him in the strange tongue. He looked Tam Nok and Ragnarok over, then replied. They seemed to be arguing about something.

  “What now?” Ragnarok asked Tam Nok.

  “He doesn’t want her to lead us to wherever it is we must go. It is apparently a very holy site. He is scared,” she added. “The Druids have many enemies.”

  “Not as many as they had before,” Ragnarok noted, nodding his head toward the remains of the wicker man.

  “The Romans tried destroying them for centuries, hunting them down like animals,” Tam Nok said. “And now that the Romans are no longer here, it is those of the new religion, the Christians, who seek to destroy the old ways and replace it with their new beliefs. The king in London has been converted and is being urged to destroy the druids.”

  “How do you know all this?” Ragnarok asked.

  “I have listened while on my journeys,” Tam Nok said. “Something I recommend to all who travel.”

  Before Ragnarok could reply to that, Tam Nok stepped forward, next to the two High Druids. She spoke to them in their tongue, then pulled out the bamboo section. She unstopped the end and showed them the map and writing she had shown Ragnarok on his ship.

  The black-robed priest still seemed opposed. Tam Nok rolled the parchments up and put them back in her tube. She pulled something out of the neckline of her cloak, an amulet attached to a thin metal chain around her neck. It glittered in the reflected light of the dying fire of the wicker man. A blue glow suffused Tam Nok’s hand and seemed to spread out over those close to her.

  Penarddun and the priest dropped to their knees, bowing their heads toward Tam Nok. The other druids, seeing their leaders, did the same until they were surrounded by supplicating figures.

  Tam Nok spoke quickly in their tongue and Penarddun stood. “Let us go,” she said. They walked out of the circle of still kneeling Druids toward the north.

  Ragnarok started to ask Tam Nok what the amulet was, but she hushed him. He fell in step as the passed between two burial barrows. A slight breeze had started to blow and Ragnarok caught the scent of burned flesh. He bowed his head and breath only through his mouth.

  THE PRESENT

  Chapter 11

  1999 AD

  Dane had always let Chelsea find the bodies on their search and rescue missions. When she went after human scent, it usually didn’t matter whether they were dead or alive-- in fact, Dane knew Chelsea could usually smell a dead body more clearly than a live one, depending on the length of time since death. Dane, on the other hand, could only sense the thoughts coming from the live ones and nothing from the dead, so whenever they went into a search situation, he concentrated on trying to save the living while his Golden Retriever located the bodies and Dane marked them for recovery.

  But Chelsea was over three miles above his head. And Dane had ordered DeAngelo back into Deepflight, to await the results of his reconnaissance. As he climbed up the ladder in the central corridor of Deeplab, the feeling in his gut reminded Dane of all his cross-border missions into Laos and Cambodia during the Vietnam War when he had been a member of the classified SOG (Studies & Observation Group) unit. Already a decorated Green Beret, Dane had been drafted into SOG and then his team had been picked by Foreman to run a mission deep into Cambodia to search for a downed SR-71 spy plane.

  Foreman had neglected to tell Dane’s team--- Reconnaissance Team Kansas (RT Kansas)-- that the SR-71 had disappeared while flying over the Angkor Kol Ker gate. In fact, Foreman told Dane and his teammates nothing. And within minutes of crossing a stream and entering the Angkor gate every other man in the patrol was dead or disappeared.

  Dane knew Deeplab IV wasn’t inside a gate. He would have been able to feel that. But something had happened here. He’d felt it while they were descending and he felt it now, a faint image, floating at the edge of his consciousness, like trying to remember a bad dream after a restless night.

  Something had been here. And from the lingering sensations, it was something that had come out of the gate.

  Dane climbed through an opening in a metal grate, then paused at the top hatches. There were three, evenly spaced around the cylinder. Green, red and blue, level 3. Red 3 was the command sphere. Blue 3 was communications. Green 3 was the escape pod. Dane checked the status board for Green 3. It indicated that the pod was gone.

  *****

  Dane cleared the safety on the door for Blue 3. Once he had a blinking green light, he began manually turning the handle. It was cold in the central corridor, despite the glow of two electrical heaters, both at the bottom. After thirty seconds, the handle clicked and stopped moving. The light turned to a steady green. Dane pulled the hatch out on pneumatic arms. He pulled himself through the three foot wide opening into the communications sphere.

  It was empty. Dane looked at the rows of blinking lights and dials. The overhead light began flashing, and if that wasn’t enough, a metallic voice announced that the sphere was
unsecured and the hatch needed to be shut.

  Dane ignored both the light and voice. He went over to a console and picked up the phone that linked the habitat with the surface.

  “Is someone there?” the voice on the other sounded anxious. “What’s going on?”

  Dane stared at the phone in his hand for a second, then put it back in place without saying anything. He went back out, shutting the hatch behind. He opened the door to Red 3, the command and control console.

  He sat down in the commander’s seat and swung the laptop computer mounted on an arm in front of him. It was on, a screensaver showing sharks and sting rays swimming across the screen. Someone with a sense of humor must have put that in, Dane thought as he hit the enter key.

  The screensaver disappeared and he was presented with an index showing the various parts of the master computer. Dane ran his finger across the touchpad until the arrow was centered over HISTORY. He double-clicked.

  He was presented with a new set of choices. Dane choose LOG for his first investigation. Lieutenant Sautran’s voice echoed out of a speaker. It began with his initial confirmation of all system’s positive and everything running in the norm as Deeplab was lowered into the water from the Glomar.

  Dane began fast-forwarding, searching for a point at which things got out of the norm. He found it just after Sautran reported Deeplab arriving at its current depth.

  “We have a contact,” Sautran reported. “Directly below.”

  There was a burst of static, then Sautran’s voice came back.

  “It’s ascending. Eight thousand feet below and rising rapidly. Very big. About the size of the Scorpion bogey. We’re trying to make contact by pinging with sonar.”

  There were a few moments of silence.

  “No reply,” Sautran’s voice was calm. Dane could only imagine what was going through the naval lieutenant’s mind as something huge came up toward them from the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean. “Lou, is it mechanical or living?”

  Sautran must have left the Log recorder on as he talked to one of his two crewmembers. Dane checked opened another window on the laptop screen. It showed the status of the members of the crew at the same time of the recording of the Log.